Persecution
by Lady Sashi
Summary: When descrimination goes too far, it becomes peresecution. M to be safe. This is the last and final Craft related fic. I own nothing. WARNING: This story contains content of Wicca and Witchcraft! If this offends you, DO NOT READ! Contains mention of graph


**WARNING: This story contains content of Wicca and Witchcraft! If this offends you, DO NOT READ! **

Persecution

**AN: This story contains strong content of a highly sensitive nature, and mention of graphic scenes and situations. Some events are true, while others are pure fiction. This Fic deals with religious intolerance and persecution. **

**Dedicated to gatermage, and all my other fans for their unwavering support, and to all those who have dealt with religious persecutions in their life, as well as those who haven't. This piece is very important to me, and I can only hope my passion speaks through it. For all those who have been wondering, I am, myself, Wiccan, and have sought, if only through fiction, to enlighten the world to the true nature of Wicca and Witchcraft. This story is followed by a full-length copy of the Wiccan Rede, both to add to the story, and clear up the miscomceptions of the religion. When I wrote this, I saw it as soemthing that went through Rogue's mind at the end of the fic. I hope you enjoy.**

**Blessed Be!**

Rogue squirmed slightly as she sat in Ororo's history class, they were studying the Salem Witchcraft Trials, which Rogue had researched thoroughly. Ororo had, today, however, procured a copy of the Malleus Maleficarum, or Witches' Hammer, as it was also known. The notorious Witch Hunters' handbook by the Dominican monks Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger. The one book to ever only second the Bible in popularity; the book that started it all.

By now word had gotten around about Rogue and her cabin of secrets, some people even knew about her choice in faith. Rogue was familiar with the Malleus also, if only to familiarize herself with the negative stereotypes.

She knew that the concept of the devil was just a demonized version of the Forest God, Pan. That real witches didn't fly, and the myth came from a combination of a fertility rite, in which they mounted their brooms and leapt as high as possible, in hopes the crops would follow by example, and the application of salves known as flying ointments to aid in astral projection. Most ointments contained poisonous plants, to achieve this feeling of flight.

She was surprised at the lengths to which people would go, and the irrationality involved. The principles involved in "ducking the witch", consisted of the conclusion that if they drowned they were innocent, and if they floated, were burned at the stake, as the pure waters would reject their "tainted" souls; Catch twenty-two at it's finest. The burnings too, were surrounded in myth. People were not burned alive as movies, and overly fanatical woodcuttings had shown, but were strangled first, then set aflame. They weren't barbarians, after all.

Ororo assigned them each a section of the Malleus to report on, the assignment was due at the end of the month. Rogue dumped her books into her bag, and wandered listlessly up to her room.

Rogue spent the night tossing and turning, as her inner world burned to ash, engulfed in flames. The flames licked at her feet, her clothes, roaring out in hunger, as she screamed her innocence to angry and frenzied cries of "burn witch, burn"!

Rogue woke up screaming.

Exhausted from the night before, Rogue dragged herself down for breakfast, trying to get a start on her assignment.

She vaguely acknowledged snickers and whispers around her, ignoring them, she delved into her work. She was almost knocked clear backwards out of her chair, when a young boy tripped over her, splashing a glass of cold water in her face, and down her front.

"Wow, hey guys, you were wrong! She didn't melt"! Snickers and giggles burst out from all around her, as Rogue caught the reference, and towelled herself dry with her gloved hands, and aired out her shirt a bit. Her paper was ruined, she'd have to start all over again, she thought bitterly as she trashed it.

Rogue sat bent over her recopied work taking notes, and checking her book for the information she needed for her report. She'd been slightly on edge given the events of last night and this morning. The snickers and giggles hadn't stopped, and she could hear whispers of "witch" and "devil-worshipper" all around her. She ignored it, and when the bell rang, left for the safety of her cabin.

Sealing herself away, Rogue lit some black candles to absorb negativity. As the candles burned down, all the events of the day and the night before seemed to disappear. The incense she burned help her to think, as well as calm her down, and she was finally able to get some peace.

Rogue woke up as Logan came into the cabin, even though the door was locked from the inside; she must have fallen asleep. "Get up, we have to leave, it's not safe here".

"Wait, what"? Rogue was still groggy, he was going way too fast. "You're in danger if you stay here, things are going to get worse, much worse". All while he was talking, Logan had been stuffing things into a bag for her, when he suddenly looked up, as a roaring sound was heard. The sound was deafening, she couldn't even hear herself think, but somehow she heard Logan. "They're here! We have to get out"!

Rogue sat bolt upright, what the hell was that! She rubbed her hands over her face, the candles had burned down to nearly nothing, as they provided the only light in the dark cabin; the sun had set hours ago.

Slipping into her desk, Rogue pulled out her books, last night had been another long one. She was about to set everything down when she noticed something odd about her desk; it had been carved up. The words "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live" stared back at her.

Rogue quickly covered the words with her books and tried to ignore the message someone was desperately trying to get across.

The weekend finally came, and Rogue had decided that she was far enough along in her assignment to warrant a break. She walked quietly through the woods, enjoying the silence and closeness to nature. She closed her eyes and spun in slow circles, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face, and the air around her.

She suddenly went down as a stone hit her, grazing her jaw line. She barely had time to acknowledge what was going on as more stones came hurtling through the air, propelled by unseen assailants.

Rogue managed to get to her feet, as she started into a staggering run. She couldn't see the cabin from where she was, and the constant blows were making it hard to concentrate, she could barely remember which direction she had come from. She ran blindly under a hail of stones, only to lose her footing as she was tackled to the ground.

She was vaguely aware of her hands being torn away from her face, as she tried to defend herself. The kicking and beating seemed to go on for a while before it stopped, and a half conscious Rogue was brought back to full consciousness by the searing pain of white-hot iron being pressed to her cheek.

She was held down so she couldn't struggle. The wood was dark by now and she couldn't identify any of them through half closed eyes, swollen and bleeding. They let her go as the iron was taken away, and laughed as they ran, leaving her to fight the darkness alone. To fight the great fight; the fight that would determine whether she would live; whether she would die.

In that moment she made peace with her Goddess, and with the God, who she seemed to acknowledge less, but never became any less important. She was welcomed into Their arms, the silver-browed Goddess, and the antlered, Horned God. In that moment, that one eternal, breathless moment, she was home.

Rogue awoke to the early morning sun bearing down on her, and a gentle masculine voce in her head. "Get up, My Child, you can't sleep here, get up". Rogue blinked sleepily, recognizing the voice. "I was home, I was home, and you brought me back"! She found she was angry with Him, with both of Them, she wanted to be with Them. "It was not your time, My Child, My Daughter". The voice faded away, and Rogue found herself craving it, like a drowned man carves land, and a thirty man craves water, yet stronger than both combined.

Rogue picked herself up, and returned broken and beaten, to her cabin. Locking the door behind her, she collapsed onto the futon and slipped into exhausted sleep. When she awoke, she was stiff and sore, she went to the cupboard, and rifled through it. She had been practising the healing arts, and was quite good by now, nothing significant, just headaches, stopping blood flow and healing minor cuts and bruises.

She took out some bruise-balm she had made earlier that year, made some willow tea for all the aches and pains she was feeling, and ran a bath with an herbal bath ball filled with lavender to put her mind better at ease. The cuts she treated with aloe after washing and cleaning them, and her eyes were treated with clothes soaked in a infusion of eyebright. She made a sling for her arm as she contemplated what to do about her face; her cheek blazed something terrible.

Clearing the mist from the mirror, Rogue gasped in horror as she fell to the floor. Her right cheek was marked with a deep scarring burn of 666; she had been branded.

Rogue sent a telepathic message telling the Professor she wouldn't be appearing for classes today; she was sick. She wrapped her face in a scarf, and tried to finish her assignment.

Her hand shook as she tried to write, as she read the words before her. Suddenly they had new meaning , she tried to work on her paper, tried to distance herself, but it was only making things worse.

She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, and she wanted to cry.

There was a small tap at the door, as Rogue groggily pulled herself out of her exhausted stupor, she'd cried till she'd found exhaustion. The door clicked open, as dreaded and hated sunlight crept in. The Professor had given Logan a key so that he could check up on Rogue when he'd heard she was sick.

The cabin was in total darkness, the curtains had been drawn, and the mirrors had all been covered. Rogue lay in a curled and huddled heap on the futon.

He crept over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, she didn't stir. "I know you're awake kid, what's going on"? Rogue mentally chastised herself, she should have known better than to try and fool him. "I'm fine, just not feeling very good, I'll be better tomorrow". Logan nodded and left her alone.

True to her word, Rogue made an appearance the following day, as though nothing were wrong. With a little help from a glamour, that appearance was made flawless. Concentrating, Rogue closed her eyes, and imagined her face as it had been, free of bruises, cuts, and the accursed brand that now marred her face. Slowly opening her eyes, she drew back the cover of a mirror and gazed at her perfect, unblemished reflection, even the scarf she wore around her face to hide it was masked with the illusion.

When Rogue made her appearance, she was sure there were more than a few people wondering how she had recovered so perfectly, so fast, and were wondering if Logan had anything to do with it. Rogue went though the day without much notice for it. She took her last spare of the day in the garden, working on her assignment.

Logan appeared out of nowhere and grabbing her arm, dragged her off to secluded area. "We need to talk", he muttered gruffly as he dragged her off. Stopping when he was sure no one could se them, he spun her to face him.

He brushed the scarf round her face, "what's this about". To her shock, Rogue realized that her glamour had slipped, and he could plainly see the shroud. Glamours were very specific and required intense amounts of concentration, but all the concentration in the world won't help you if someone came along who knew you so well, they were able to see right through it. Logan was such a person.

Rogue brushed his hand away harsher than she had meant to. "It's nothing".

"Don't give me that lame excuse", he reached out and whipped the scarf off before she could even think. Rogue covered her cheek with her hand and hair. Logan seemed confused. "It can't be that bad, come on, let me see". She shook her head, but didn't resist as her smoother back her hair and pulled her hand away, tipping her head up to get a look at the brand that spread across her cheek.

"Oh my God"! Rogue bowed her head in shame, as she grabbed the scarf and covered her face again. "Rogue, who did this"! Logan had his claws out, and a killing rage in his eyes. She was about to reply she didn't know, when they saw smoke coming from the direction of the cabin.

They raced over to see the last of the smouldering wreckage of what used to be her sanctuary. All that remained now was the door and doorframe amid a pile debris that had once been her home. Nailed to the door by its tail, was her black cat Tabitha, the same inscription she had found etched into her desk, written in her blood.

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'.

In that moment, Rogue lost it, she wanted to do what she normally did when things got bad. Hold her faith close and wrap herself in the loving arms of the Goddess and Her consort, but it was exactly that which was causing her this grief.

Logan held her as she fell to pieces in his arms. She had nothing left, what had gone so wrong that she wasn't even free to have a religion outside the norm?

Logan helped her bury Tabitha with all the ceremony befitting a servant of Bast, and searched the destruction for anything that might have survived.

The stroke of midnight saw a lone figure creep under a moonless sky to the car garage. The dark moon was normally a time for resting and rejuvenation, to regain power that had been lost over the month. Tonight however, the three days of lunar darkness would be used to conceal the escape and retreat of one who didn't belong, and one who had little choice in leaving.

Rogue pulled out the saddlebags she had filled and hidden, before checking her pocket for the keys to the motorcycle she had stolen from Logan. She would go to Salem, she knew it sounded a bit cliché, but the same town that had once been the persecution of so many professed to carry the name of witch, had now become a safe haven for the same.

Her assignment rested on Ororo's desk in the classroom, the assignment had changed though. Instead of an analysis on the persecution methods of the 16 and 1700's, it was a story of the real life trails of a real life Wiccan, the title read "Book of Shadows: Diary of a Witch".

Rogue pushed the bike a mile down the road, she had left notes for everyone so they would know she had gone, but not where, they could never know where. Rogue was wearing Logan's clothes so he couldn't track her scent, she didn't need him coming after her.

She started the bike and sped off without ever looking back, she would never, could never, bring herself to look back. The Gloved, untouchable mutant with a streak of white in her hair, and the "Devil's Mark" upon her cheek.

**The Wiccan Rede  
**(Full Version)

**B**ide within the Law you must, in perfect Love and perfect Trust.  
Live you must and let to live, fairly take and fairly give.

For tread the Circle thrice about to keep unwelcome spirits out.  
To bind the spell well every time, let the spell be said in rhyme.

Light of eye and soft of touch, speak you little, listen much.  
Honor the Old Ones in deed and name,  
let love and light be our guides again.

Deosil go by the waxing moon, chanting out the joyful tune.  
Widdershins go when the moon doth wane,  
and the werewolf howls by the dread wolfsbane.

When the Lady's moon is new, kiss the hand to Her times two.  
When the moon rides at Her peak then your heart's desire seek.

Heed the North winds mighty gale, lock the door and trim the sail.  
When the Wind blows from the East, expect the new and set the feast.

When the wind comes from the South, love will kiss you on the mouth.  
When the wind whispers from the West, all hearts will find peace and rest.

Nine woods in the Cauldron go, burn them fast and burn them slow.  
Birch in the fire goes to represent what the Lady knows.

Oak in the forest towers with might, in the fire it brings the God's  
insight.Rowan is a tree of power causing life and magick to flower.

Willows at the waterside stand ready to help us to the Summerland.  
Hawthorn is burned to purify and to draw faerie to your eye.

Hazel-the tree of wisdom and learning adds its strength to the bright fire burning.  
White are the flowers of Apple tree that brings us fruits of fertility.

Grapes grow upon the vine giving us both joy and wine.  
Fir does mark the evergreen to represent immortality seen.

Elder is the Lady's tree burn it not or cursed you'll be.  
Four times the Major Sabbats mark in the light and in the dark.

As the old year starts to wane the new begins, it's now Samhain.  
When the time for Imbolc shows watch for flowers through the snows.

When the wheel begins to turn soon the Beltane fires will burn.  
As the wheel turns to Lamas night power is brought to magick rite.

Four times the Minor Sabbats fall use the Sun to mark them all.  
When the wheel has turned to Yule light the log the Horned One rules.

In the spring, when night equals day time for Ostara to come our way.  
When the Sun has reached it's height time for Oak and Holly to fight.

Harvesting comes to one and all when the Autumn Equinox does fall.  
Heed the flower, bush, and tree by the Lady blessed you'll be.

Where the rippling waters go cast a stone, the truth you'll know.  
When you have and hold a need, harken not to others greed.

With a fool no season spend or be counted as his friend.  
Merry Meet and Merry Part bright the cheeks and warm the heart.

Mind the Three-fold Laws you should three times bad and three times good.  
When misfortune is enow wear the star upon your brow.

Be true in love this you must do unless your love is false to you.

**These Eight words the Rede fulfill: **

"An Ye Harm None, Do What Ye Will


End file.
